Heat
by Splintered Star
Summary: Summers in Lumiose are hot, and Augustine has his ways of dealing with them. His methods just happen to make his best friend twitch.


(not mine, obviously)

Lysandre let himself into Augustine's office. It was quickly becoming a habit, to visit the man when he wasn't busy, but he wasn't going to think about that too much. The office was seemingly abandoned, perhaps due to the heat. He'd heard rumors the AC was broken. He loosened his collar, and then thought better of it.

Summer was in full swing, pushing the natives into their homes and into cafes offering iced drinks. Lysandre had to invent a few iced coffees to keep up. The office was empty, and yet… Lysandre rounded the barrier, knowing that Sycamore would be at work anyway, even if the air /was/ broken.

Then he stopped and blinked once. "I see you're busy. I'll come back another day."

Augustine straightened up in his chair, the leather making an awful noise. "Nonsense, my friend! Come in!"

Lysandre didn't budge and tried not to stare. He wasn't succeeding. "You seem…" A droplet of sweat slipped down Augustine's neck. Lysandre swallowed. "Indisposed."

Augustine stood up, the bare skin of his back peeling away from the leather chair. "No, just finished up." Lysandre's eyes traced – bare skin, lines of muscle never lax despite an academic life, sweat outlining and emphasizing, making him shine.

He bit the inside of his lip to focus, and raised an eyebrow at his friend. Augustine only smiled back as he came back from around his desk, asking, "Is the heat getting to you, friend?"

Lysandre gave a brief, somewhat sarcastic, mental blessing to old dead gods, thankful that at least Augustine was wearing pants. He merely inclined his head. "Not as much as you, apparently."

Augustine smiled – no, that was a smirk – and leaned against his desk. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just trying to stay cool."

Lysandre's lips twitched down, quite certain his friend was doing this on purpose. The idea left him sour – Augustine was a flirt and a hound, charming anyone he set eyes on. Often he did it only for the reaction, temptation with no intention of satisfaction.

He'd thought his company worth more than momentary amusement. Perhaps not.

Suddenly he realized that he'd tarried too long, Augustine suddenly too close and tugging on his shirt sleeve. "Come on, you must be baking in that!" Lysandre swallowed, breathing in the _smell_ - sweat and chemicals and /Augustine/ -

-would it be worth it? Becoming an abandoned conquest if it meant being able to lick the sweat from this skin?

…No, no it wouldn't. Maybe nothing would be.

"Augustine, let go of me." He breathed out. Augustine blinked out, letting go and stepping back. It was easier to breathe when Augustine wasn't touching him. "I am not interested."

"Oh, I thought…" Now Augustine swallowed, looked away. "Never mind, I'll just…" His shirt laid draped over the back of his chair – he slipped it on quietly, not meeting Lysandre's eyes. The look on his face – disappointed, slightly hurt – made something in the bottom of Lysandre's heart stomach hurt. But it would be better this way, for both of them.

Sometimes, one had to be cruel to be kind.

Augustine smiled, but it was stiff, forced. "Well, if you're really comfortable like that…." A blatent cover, but one Lysandre barely noticed. Augustine had left the top three buttons undone, and sweat had pooled in his collar bone. Suddenly, Augustine threw his hands up in frustration. Lysandre stared in alarm.

"August-"Augustine sat down at his desk and pointed at the chair opposite.

"Sit." Still slightly alarmed, Lysandre did. "Now, I want a yes or no answer: do you want me?"

/What./ Lysandre blinked back, his mouth opening. "I'm not sure what you –" Augustine cut him off with a glare.

"You've been staring at me like you want to eat me, and I never took you for a cannibal." For the first time in his life, he flushed slightly. He hadn't thought… Augustine smiled more honestly. "Friend, you are many wonderful things, but subtle is not one of them. Now tell me, yes or no."

Lysandre swallowed, his hands clenching on his thighs. He breathed out, "…yes." He despised liars, did not lie. Even when he rather wanted to.

Augustine nodded, smile flickering, fading. "….then why..?" His hands flew up in appeasement. "If you want to keep this professional, I understand." His eyebrow twitched and his smile turned sarcastic. "Though personally I think it's a bit late for that."

Long nights spent awake over textbooks or history books or nothing at all except their ideas bouncing between them at the speed of light – wandering around the city with no purpose but enjoying each other's company, Augustine leading him forward with a grin and, "Come on Lys, a new shop just opened!" – showing up at the lab late at night to find Augustine asleep at his desk and being struck, a lump in his throat, with the desire to brush the hair out of his eyes and carry him to bed –

-yes, the chance for professionalism was long past. Still, Lysandre bristled. "I preferred to think that you enjoyed my company as a friend, rather than as a potential /conquest/." The word dripped with distain. Augustine blinked. "Your reputation precedes you."

Augustine Sycamore; friend to all, lover to many – a prince charming who would disappear by morning. Even this tense, unending limbo would be better than having him /gone/.

Inexplicably, impossibly, Augustine began to laugh. "Lys, is that what you're afraid of?" Lysandre narrowed his eyes, Augustine just smiled and stood, circling the desk again. "Lysandre, I've loved and left people before, I'll admit. But…" His smile became a bit awkward and /beautiful/ in his honesty. "I want more with you."

Lysandre looked at him and then slowly, deliberately stood up. It left them…close. "More?" He said, with more of a purr than he intended, "What more would you to do me?" His own phrasing made him flush again but it was too late to correct it. Hope, that fleeting and fragile feeling bloomed in his chest – and lust flamed… somewhere lower.

Augustine stared back for a moment, swallowed. "Well," He began with a smirk, flipping his bangs from his eyes, but it softened into something real. "I want to… wake up next to you and argue theories over coffee. I want to get dragged into boutiques and drag you into museums. I want to… be with you." Lysandre didn't dare breathe, the image in his mind so beautiful he feared it would crumble.

"Yes." He whispered. "Yes," To them, to everything. And Augustine smiled, prefect and beautiful and Lysandre kissed him. Running his hands through that long hair, all Lysandre could think was, "Yes, this, /forever/."

Then he broke the kiss, tugged Augustine's head to the side, and licked the sweat from Augustine's neck.


End file.
